A Royal Craving (32 page)

Spencer woke with a start, as confused as he always had been by the enigmatic words of the prophetess. His whole body shook, covered in sweat. When he lifted his hands, to try to steady them, he frowned at how soft and small they were.

This was wrong.

Spencer stood in his parent's house, in Ruiseart. He was not supposed to be here.

Holding his hand to his head, he looked to the side of the room, where his clothes were usually draped over the back of a chair. Instead of a chair, a full length mirror stood in the corner, of the likes he had seen in Sienna's manor and his own home, with his King.

Prosper. That was where he should be; with his husband.

Spencer pushed the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed, taking in his appearance. This was impossible – he was fourteen-years-old.

To check, he put his hands to his face, to his bare chest, convinced this could not be real.

Then a light flickered, in the corner of the room.

Spencer looked over and frowned at the beautifully crafted crib, slowly rocking. It should not be there, just as the mirror had never existed in his fourteen-year-old life.

Curious and confused, he got out of bed and crossed to the crib, which had a strange orange-hued light emanating from it.

The curtains were drawn, hiding the child he could hear quietly crying within. He pulled the curtains aside, to find a baby boy staring at him, crying softly while his body exploded in flames.

Spencer reacted on instinct; he picked up the baby, ignoring the burns that appeared on his hands and drew the child from the fire. It took seconds to pat the flames from his clothes and hold the gentle soul to his shoulder. “Shh, I am here now,” he promised, though he did not know where the words came from.

Or how he knew what a baby's cry sounded like.

He stalled, remembering another dream he had once had of a baby crying. He had been fourteen, sleeping in this room when the dream came, three days after visiting the prophetess and learning his fate.

Spencer blinked away the confusion and bounced on his knees, as gently as he could, to rock the baby to sleep. His hands hurt and were beginning to blister, but all evidence of flames were gone. The crib remained intact, the baby's clothes were pristine and the child had stopped crying.

Then he heard Prosper's voice, loud and clear, as though from beside him. Although a sound he had never heard before, he identified it immediately.

He looked around the room and opened the door, but a brick wall faced him and gave no sign of his husband. “Prosper!” he shouted, more scared than he had ever been before.

Spencer held the baby tighter, the only solid truth from his life that made sense in this strange world. “Where are you?” he asked, wondering if this were some personal Hell.

“You saved me, little one. You showed me love and brought me happiness…you took the darkness from my soul,” Prosper's voice said, close to his ear. The sound filled Spencer with warmth, because he knew his husband well enough to know they were his words. “Do not leave me,” he begged, tearfully. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” Spencer promised, as tears came to his eyes. “I want to go home!” he shouted at the room, causing the baby to start crying.

He cursed himself for shouting near the baby's sensitive ears and pulled his son away from his shoulder. “I am sorry,” he began to apologise, but stopped short.

He was not holding a baby, but an empty blanket.

“No…” He frowned, trying to make sense of what he saw. “Where's my baby?” he screamed at the room, as he dropped the empty blanket and grasped at his hair.

A clatter made him look down.

In amongst the blanket folds, twelve brown seeds hit the wooden floor.

“N
o!”

Spencer woke screaming, with one hand reaching out.

Prosper turned from where he stood at the side of the bed and rushed to his husband. “Spencer.” He sighed, as he saw bloody beads of sweat on his forehead. “I am here with you,” he promised, as his lover looked at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“You are here,” he gasped, grasping the front of his shirt and pressing his fingers deep into Prosper's skin.

“Yes, little one. I am here. What is wrong?” Prosper asked, concerned about the wild look in his eyes.

“The baby,” Spencer said, looking up to meet his gaze. “Where is he?” he asked, pressing both hands to his stomach. When his fingers clawed at the blanket covering him, Prosper grabbed them and pulled them away.

As soon as his lover looked up, he held both wrists in one hand and caught Spencer's chin in the other, to ensure he had his undivided attention. “Our son is safe and healthy. But you have gone through a traumatic surgery and your body is still healing. You bled profusely and, because of the ricin, your body is not ready to heal itself. I must beg you to stay still and lie back,” he said, speaking slowly and firmly, to ensure he understood the gravity of the situation.

They had nearly lost him. A vampire could only lose a degree of blood before the chances of self-healing and a fresh regenerative blood supply became impossible.

Prosper was weak from feeding his blood to his companion three times during the operation. Spencer drank freely, without resistance, but his eyes were wild, unfocused and he remained unresponsive to sign language or the words Prosper let him see.

“He is well?” Spencer asked, with a sigh of relief. “Then it was a dream,” he said, as though that made everything better.

Unconvinced, Prosper pressed his hand to his lover's forehead and stared into green eyes that could not meet his own without flicking away, quickly. His husband still searched for something, deep in his mind, and his forehead burned a fever higher than he had known a vampire to have, before.

“Parry…the ricin,” Prosper said, coming upon a thought.

His twin appeared from the bathroom, where he and Braddock were cleaning the baby.

“Could Spencer's DNA have caused him to react to the ricin in a new way? He is burning a fever and distant from me,” Prosper confessed, uneasily. “I cannot reach his mind. It is as though it is detached from him and from me,” he explained what he could.

“With his DNA? Anything is possible,” his twin replied, while crossing to the bed.

Prosper kept a firm grip on his lover's face, as Parry leaned in and opened Spencer's eyelids wide. He hummed and pressed his fingertip to the pulse in Spencer's neck.

“Yes. Definite increased pulse, his skin is cold and clammy, his eyes are unfocused and the pupils did not react to the increase of light,” Parry rhymed off.

Prosper had no idea what those reactions meant. He cursed the fact that he had a medically minded family; Spencer, Parry, his father-in-law and they had even roped Davian into working at the hospital, too.

“Parry! Speak sense,” he demanded.

“Oh, sorry brother.” Parry patted his arm and grinned. “Fever. Should wear off in a few hours. The fact he has spoken to you is a sign that the ricin is out of his system. Now we wait for his body to repair the damage we have done,” he said, with a shrug and a wary look.

Prosper, at least, knew what that meant. Parry had been forced to cut a hole, to get room to remove the child. He had removed, but not detached, a few organs from their rightful place, while Davian stood by to hold them as far as possible. They had been as careful as they could, to never cut anything that should not be cut and to allow the body to function normally during the operation.

Still, it had taken three hours to remove his son from where he had been living. The space seemed so small that Prosper was astounded to pull a five and a half pound baby from his husband. A weight which, Braddock claimed, was perfectly normal and healthy for a premature child.

The son Prosper had cradled had not looked premature. In fact, he looked like a fully developed baby.

Prepared to wait, Prosper lowered his companion to the bed and brushed the hair from his eyes. If Spencer required rest, to let his body repair itself, then Prosper would ensure that happened.

“Here.” Parry handed him a glass of blood. “Regain your strength, while we wait. It may take a while,” he warned, with a look that said Prosper would not escape feeding, as long as Spencer could repair his own wounds.

He took the glass, with a nod to his brother and drank the restorative liquid.

Prosper realised he had fallen asleep, only when a soft touch brush against his lips. He opened his eyes to find Spencer on his side, smiling as he trailed a fingertip over Prosper's bottom lip. “Have I been sleeping long?” he asked, watching the healthy flush to his companion's cheeks, that relieved his mind over his recovery.

“I am not sure how long I have been lucid. I am uncertain how long I dreamed, before that,” Spencer confessed, with a quiet laugh. He looked so happy that it took a moment to make sense of what happened.

“How long have you been awake?” Prosper wondered.

“I am not sure. Not long,” he said, as a grin slowly formed on his lips. “Can I see our son?”

“Of course.” Prosper cupped his cheek, stunned and relieved. He leaned in and kissed his companion's lips tenderly, grateful for the response he was given. Then he slipped out of bed and crossed to the crib that had been prepared for their son's arrival, in the corner of the room, for the last two months.

Prosper looked at the tiny baby, lying in the cot, kicking his feet and waving his arms. A cry came from him, as he scrunched up his face in the threat of tears. “All will be well, little one. Come to Daddy,” he soothed, lifting him to hold against his chest.

He made his way to the bed and sat against the headboard, so he could get comfortable and hold the baby properly. Beside him, Spencer slowly sat up and leaned against him.

“We nearly lost you, bringing our boy into the world,” Prosper told him, as he handed over their son.

Spencer scrambled to sit upright and never tore his gaze from the soft jade green eyes that focused on him. The second he had his hands tucked under the tiny arms, the baby stopped crying. “Hello sweetheart.” He smiled, as he slowly pulled that lolling head to his shoulder and adjusted his grip.

Prosper crooked his finger under Spencer's chin and turned him, until they were looking at each other. “What shall we name him?” he asked, having wondered what would be an appropriate name for their son.

“It might sound silly, but…” Spencer licked his lips and smiled. “I thought Jaycob would be a nice name,” he admitted, gazing up at him, with those green eyes.

“That is your third name, yes?” he recalled. Only those of ancient blood had a second or third name, in this new world, and even Prosper and his siblings did not have one, but it seemed right that Spencer should.

“Yes. My father said it is the name of the first ever vampire. That our family have been using the name in some form or another, when naming their children, to honour our heritage,” Spencer explained, as though he expected an argument. “All Cooper's have a variant spelling of the name.”

“I have no objection to honouring our forefather,” Prosper promised, as he stroked his hand over their son's back.

Jaycob had a content look, as he lay against Spencer's chest, probably listening to the stillness of his no-longer beating heart. He liked doing that himself, since his lover had turned.

“But you are not a Cooper. You are a Rosser,” he reminded him, cheekily. They were married now, so he carried the Royal name and status.

“Yes.” Spencer sighed happily and flushed, as he looked at the new, curious eyes that watched him intently.

When he turned his way, Prosper made his decision. “Our son will be Jaycob Rosser,” he said, in approval.

“Only if you like it,” his lover rushed to say.

“I do,” he promised.

Then he graced soft lips with his own, unsurprised that Spencer reacted as he always did; he moaned and a hand grasped the front of his shirt, drawing him closer. They kissed for a long time, trading soft, slow caresses, as they took the time to savour each other as they should.

Jaycob had come into the world traumatically and it had drained them both. Prosper could not describe his relief that his companion had come out of it in one piece.

A tiny sneeze drew their attention.

Prosper chuckled, as newly-named Jaycob lifted his left hand to grab Spencer's chin. Once he had a grip, he lay his head against his father's shoulder and kept a tight hold. They had a bond, already.

“His hands are cold,” his lover realised, sending a worried frown in his direction.

“Your father told me it is normal for a newborn. He did not sneeze from the cold; it is a human instinct, to open his airways.” Prosper soothed his concerns, thankful he had already asked Braddock to give him all the information Spencer may wish for, when he woke.

“He is human?” Spencer asked, his frown deepening in confusion.

“Yes, as was I, when I was born.” He nodded, running his hand over Jaycob's delicate head. “When he is a teenager, in human terms, the maturity that you experienced – a change in voice, mental and physical attitude and hormonal changes – will be different for him. He will turn, over the course of two years,” he explained, though he had already talked to Spencer of his own turning and how it should have gone, before his father's potion took hold.

“But he is not cold; that I am sure of,” Prosper promised, to ease his worries. “It is the temperature of his torso we must notice and keep track of. He is premature and parts of his system are still developing. Your father assures me it will develop in time.”

“I am overreacting? Already?” Spencer asked, with a radiant smile that lit up Prosper's dead heart.

“Concern is normal, little one,” he reassured, placing a kiss on Spencer's temple, before focusing on keeping his lips visible. “This is a new adventure and we will have to take note of everything, no matter how small, to ensure Jaycob's life is a happy, healthy one. He is the first of his kind, in a long time.”

“Just like his daddy,” his lover insisted, with a dreamy look and soft lips that danced over the curve of his jaw. Spencer let out a whisper of a sigh and touched his finger to Prosper's lips. “I heard you, in my dreams.”

It was Prosper's turn to be confused; Spencer had never heard a sound in his life.

“I could hear your voice. You said that I saved you…that you did not want me to go…that you loved me,” he admitted, as he let his finger trail over Prosper's jawline. “I was very happy to hear you,” he confessed, his lips quirking into a smile of wonder and hope.

“Hearing cannot compete with seeing you,” Prosper argued. He did not want to dash Spencer's dreams, but if his turning had not cured his deafness then nothing would. And Prosper would not want him to be any different.

“No. I know that now. I could not see you in my dreams.” His life mate frowned. “I would rather have you here and never hear you, than know your voice and never get to touch you again,” he professed, with tenderness.

Prosper tilted his companion's head up and smiled, to let him know he felt the same. He was incapable of speaking, at the moment, consumed with love and joy that only Spencer had brought to his life.

His seductive life mate blushed, but his lips parted instinctively, the second Prosper leaned in to kiss him. They were allowed a moment of contact, before a tiny hand slapped Prosper's cheek. He looked at Jaycob, who smacked his nose this time, with a grin.

Spencer reached out to stop him.

Prosper almost insisted that it was unnecessary when he saw something miraculous. He caught his life mate's left hand and examined the unblemished skin of his palm. “The cross…it is gone,” he noticed, looking up at Spencer for an explanation.

His life mate caught Jaycob's small hand in his own, to hold it to his chest. “I fulfilled my destiny. I do not need it,” he answered.